Room 6

Daisies of the galaxy

Dec 07, 2025

Jen, the Vet Tech, who we have known for many years, came into the room with tears in her eyes, “I’m so sorry, you two.”

“Is it bad?” I asked.

“It’s really bad,” she confirmed.

“Is he dying?”

“Yes, he is, and I am heartbroken that you two are here again,” she said.

Five weeks ago, we were in room 2 saying goodbye to our dog, Bentley.

And now, in room 6, we are holding our other dog, Rufus, preparing to do it all over again.

What started last week as a regular Sunday morning ended with his back legs giving out as he got up later that afternoon.

I was scared and worried, but thought maybe he had slept on them wrong and had “dead leg.” After all, as a side sleeper, it has happened to my arm before.

But he didn’t get off his bed, he didn’t eat dinner, and his face was long and sad.

That night and the next morning, I had to lift him to take him outside to relieve himself.

I googled “my dog’s legs collapsed, and he is wobbly,” and saw multiple links to “toxins” and “neurological symptoms.” I started to wonder if he had eaten something.

Did he get to our grapes? Did he eat some toxic plant on our walk? Did he ingest rat poison near the restaurants we walked past?

Did he have an ear infection that caused him to lose his balance?

Did he….?

My mind raced.

After watching him closely for two days, I said to my wife, “Something isn’t right. We have to take him to the vet.” On the drive, my mind was spinning about possible scenarios, but I didn’t think we were taking him to say goodbye. I assumed we would get some antibiotics, come home, and feed him rice for a few days.

As we walked in, I eyed room 2 and hoped we wouldn’t get called into it.

A few minutes later, the door to room 6 opened, and a young veterinary assistant said, “Rufus.”

I was relieved.

The veterinarian eventually came in, listened to his heart and lungs, looked into his ears, and said all sounded “OK.”

“Just OK?” I thought. Well, he is twelve, I guess I will take that.

She then said, “I feel a mass in his abdomen and would like to do an ultrasound.”

Oh no.

My heart sped, and my stomach sank.

Ten minutes later, she returned and confirmed our worst fears.

He had a large tumor, most likely pressing up against his spinal cord, which is why his back legs gave way. There was also fluid around it, which she suspected was blood beginning to bleed out.

“No, no, Rufus, please no,” I said, breaking down as I held him.

The options were that we could take him home with some pills to hopefully make him comfortable, and maybe he would eat.

But she said we would be back soon.

Or, he may die in the middle of the night.

Or, worse, we may come home from work and find that he died alone.

The walls of room 6 began to close in on me, and I suddenly felt a spiraling, claustrophobic sensation.

At that moment, as I held him in my arms, stroking his head and long ears in my lap, we had to make a decision.

The right decision.

The ONLY decision.

Goodbye, my friend. Say hello to Bentley for us.